Cose di tutti i giorni
by Kya NightShade
Summary: The title translation may be One day ...This is a very stupid ff about Kisame. It is been born for case while I spoke with my friend NA: I'm italian and my english isn't very good, so be clement


Who has never said that the secret societies are built only on the ideals? Also they needed money. After all it's impossible live with only the air.

This is the history of a member, not much lucky and not a lot considered, of one of these famous secret societies.

Having received the order to earn money for the ultimate target of the secret association, (target that it wasn't very clear), he had been ventured in the first city that had seen. He had chosen, in truth, a very populated city so as to succeed to find soon an job. You will ask: why one, who is a member of a secret society , must find a job? He couldn't stolen something or someone? In this case no. Their leader's orders (but who is their leader?) had been much clear: don't attract attention; don't create problems of no type and in last, but not less important, a very ninja acts in the shadow.

And here there is our protagonist, of which name I have not still revealed (not for laziness but in order to provoke in you curiosity) that he comes engaged from a small, fat and a bit too blind man ... well... not so much blind.

After few words, ours hero' comes sent in the kitchen with a pair of yellow rubber boots and a beautiful grease and wornoverall, too small for his size.

And it's in an angle of the kitchen that we find him again, attempt to make one of oldest and famouse jobs: to peel potatoes

The head cook, that day, wasn't a very happy mode. He was a little moody. Probably, that morning, had been waked up with the wrong foot, but nobody had had the courage to ask about. Therefore all were very careful and jolted when they felt he to scream, noticing only after, that he was screaming against the purè of potatoes that were too much insipid.

Kisame, seated on its stool, continued to peel potatoes like if nothing were. He didn't care if the head cook was in bad mode. He was accustomed to be close to people very more dangerous than old and hysterical old man who screma with a rolling pin in his hand.

But never underrate a rolling pin if it's in the hands of the right person. The faithful tool of wood hit, with incredible precision, on the head of Kisame, who reacted to the blow heading the knife to the throat of the cook. Seconds passed like hours but the thing, in truth, was resolved very quickly: Kisame was degraded and, since wasn't other loads under the the scullery boy, the old man decided that he would have been the scully boy of a scully boy.

But why Kisame had chosen to work in kitchen? He didn't understand nothing of this strange world of pots, cutlery and strange, for how much fascinates, instruments, but the options that had been offered to him were only two: or scully boy in kitchen or to clean up... and the master didn't refer neither to the pavements neither the laundry. With a face like this, what other you expected? And so he had opted for the kitchen. At least here he didn't have to wear that embarrassing black and white uniform.

While, much more far away, in a place very not specified, a man from the cruel look, that seemed to be still exited from a deep state of catalexis, asked himself because that incapable of his partner, who they had given to him against his will, put so much to prepare a simple cup of tea. After all he knew that Kisame had gone that morning soon to earn the money for his tea. Was he seeding the plants of the famous drink?

But return in the funny kitchen... Kisame was listing mentally how much would have perceived of wage and how much would have had to remain in that place, beyond the fact to make attention to not discover his true identity (although he thought that nobody would have never suspected that he was a ninja to a famous organization. He wasn't stupid!), when someone taken his arm. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that he didn't notice to come taken without compliments, put on the table and... made to slices... In truth he didn't notice this part of the operation and I want not describe it. Imagined something of horrifying. So much horrifying that nobody of present noticed nothing, continuing, like if nothing were, their duties. But how it append this? One of the cooks, who didn't seen what he was doing ( to control what that crazy head cook was making in order to return alive to house), that he had exchanged him for the fish that had to put in his famous soup. You know... cut here, slices here, add a bit of salt, take the fish...

And, in this way, ended the glorious, say therefore, existence of Kisame that, from ninja of a secret organization, partner of frightening ninja, and owner of little assets (only one old scaly sword) became the soup of a poor unaware girl.

Kisame, to the end, wasn't good not to eat and so, the aforesaid girl, churches the restaurant a big compensation for poisoning from food. (oh, yeah ... Itachi is still waiting for his tea ...) 


End file.
